


Eggs Gone Wrong

by Incredible_Iguana



Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Eggs, I'm making it a thing, Is that a thing, Long Ago, Natasha is cool, Other, UA - Universe Alterations, falcon is a mom, peter was struck by lightning, shopping trip gone wrong, thanks to my roommate, tony stark is butthurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-08-19 15:38:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8214592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Incredible_Iguana/pseuds/Incredible_Iguana
Summary: "Of course, it figured that the one day Peter decided to get out of bed was the day the Infamous Parker Luck kicked in.There he was, just rolling along on his skateboard, avoiding any second glances, when BAM! The entire wall of the fancy, glass-walled building to his right exploded. "AKA Peter tries to get some eggs. It doesn't work.





	1. In Which Buildings Explode

**Author's Note:**

> : )

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter just wanted some eggs.

_Peter_ was a bit self-conscious, to say the least. If it wasn’t bad enough that he was just entering into his freshman year of college with a load of anxiety and reservation tagging along, the constant stares at his complexion were the icing on the _low-self-esteem_ cake.

It just so happened that, at the tender age of twelve, Peter was struck by lightning. Literal, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it, blinds-you-for-a-second _lightning._ It left his skin mottled two different shades of Caucasian, like that _pityriasis_ skin disease Peter had read about before.

The condition had been cause for much bullying and shaming through the rest of Peter’s middle and high school life, and he was glad to be rid of his permanently-gawking classmates now that he was in college, where everyone was too stressed out to notice or care.

But, while Peter was relieved that he was free of immature high schoolers, he had no doubts in his mind that he would get more than a few double-takes out and about. Invariably, people stared at him. It was only natural that strangers would eyeball him curiously, pityingly, just as Peter used to ogle at the particularly obviously-autistic kids in elementary school.

Peter had simply learned to live with it, painful though his need to yell _I’m normal_ was.

So it was that, on this day, a lazy Sunday morning, Peter was huddled into a thick hoodie with another jacket over the top, a beanie, comfortable jeans, and fuzzy socks beneath his Converse, pushing up his glasses and heading toward the mini-mart to pick up some eggs for Aunt May. (She joked with him that it was her last week to make Peter run all of her errands for her before he had to go to university, but Peter knew she was really trying to keep him from sitting in his room and reading science articles online all day.)

Yes, it was chilly, and Peter loved taking advantage of cold weather to snuggle up. (And also to hide more easily from those prying gazes, but he kept that to himself.) Normally, he would have whined at Aunt May that he wanted to stay in bed because he was just getting over a cold and The Slow Mo Guys had just uploaded another video to YouTube, but today he was feeling like he needed to get some more exercise to prepare for that “freshman fifteen” everybody guaranteed he was going to gain.

Of course, it figured that the one day Peter decided to get out of bed was the day the Infamous Parker Luck kicked in.

There he was, just rolling along on his skateboard, avoiding any second glances, when _BAM!_ The entire wall of the fancy, glass-walled building to his right exploded. Luckily, no one was in the line of fire, as the crosswalk had just turned and people were filing into the street, but Peter was about to roll directly into the mess, and falling face-first into broken glass and office supplies was not on Peter’s list of things to do today.

So, naturally, he flung himself backward off his skateboard and fell on his tail on the asphalt.

At this point, civilians were running for their lives, away from the scene—and from _Peter_ —and Peter was realizing that he should probably be doing the same. Wincing, Peter struggled to his feet and straightened up, looking for his skateboard—

Only to discover that there was now a person standing right in front of the board, approximately ten feet in front of Peter, and in the midst of the shattered glass.

Peter’s mouth was agape as he stared at the red-and-black-spandex-clad man, beefier than Peter could ever dream of being, and certainly much taller. (What could he say? He’d always been a bit of a shrimp.) And, Peter noted, the man didn’t seem to notice that he was bleeding profusely from several places on the right side of his chest and his right shoulder.

Suddenly, the man sighed loudly and stretched his arms up over his head, as if he’d just come home from a long day at work. He started babbling so quickly to himself that Peter could barely make up what he was saying—something about _never gets old, choppin’ up baddies_ , and then telling two colors to shut up—as he started to twist from side to side, cracking his back.

“’Specially the ones that mess with kids, they really—”

The man ceased the mumble and Peter recognized his dilemma too late. He should have forgotten his skateboard and ran for his life, but he had been too frozen to move, and now he was the focus of Panda Eyes’ attention.

Panda Eyes recovered quickly.

“Hello!” he said cheerily. “You seem lost my friend, are you lost? ‘Cause I can _definitely_ help you _find your way_.”

At this point, Panda Eyes was bent over, apparently so he could see Peter’s hidden face, and Peter squeaked a little at the innuendo.

“N-nup,” he managed. “Um—you’re bleeding.”

The man paused, and then straightened up to check over himself.

“Well whaddya know!” he said, a tad too happily for Peter’s taste, and proceeded to have a one-sided conversation with the color Yellow.

Peter was fidgeting by now, suitably baffled and debating whether he should just make a break for it and hope for the best, or stand there and take his chances with what was clearly a mentally-unstable individual.

As if sensing Peter’s distress, Panda Eyes turned back to him and said, “ _Welp,_ it’s been a _blast”_ —he giggled— “but I’ve got people to un-alive and more places to blow up, so—”

“ _Deadpool!_ ”

And, _oh man,_ wasn’t this just turning out to be Peter’s day? He watched in awe as Iron Man landed on his left, street-side, and Captain America ran up to stand on his right, followed by the Black Widow, the infamous Winter Soldier, and Falcon.

This was it. Peter must be dead or dreaming. There was _no way_ he was flanked by the Avengers right now.

_No way._

“Hey!” Panda Eyes—evidently Deadpool—cheered, not put off in the least by the angry tone coming from beneath Iron Man’s metal mask. “It’s the Tin Man and his boyfriend! Or did Spangles leave you for Hydra-But-Not-Really?”

“What?” the Winter Soldier muttered, but Captain America wasn’t distracted.

“What did you do here, Deadpool?” the Cap demanded, and Peter watched in awe.

“I just helped out a little!” Deadpool said.

“We told you to leave this situation to us,” the Captain said firmly.

Deadpool blew a raspberry behind his mask and pouted. “You guys never let me have any fun.”

And then, before anyone could reply, Deadpool turned to Peter and pleasantly said, “You should close your mouth before I put something in it.”

Peter felt his face burning, and he snapped his mouth shut so quickly that there was a painful click even Falcon winced at.

“ _Deadpool,_ ” Captain America growled.

Deadpool giggled delightedly and said, “Alright, I’m going! But there’s nothing for you to do here except clean up!”

Deadpool kicked Peter’s skateboard at him, then shouted, “Call me, cutie!” before zipping around the corner and disappearing.

And then, it was official, Peter was enveloped in the most awkward silence he’d ever experienced as he stood between two of the most famous Avengers and stared after a pervert they were somehow socially related to. It was made ten times more awkward as Hawkeye dropped presumably from the roof and in front of Peter some ways, and joined them in staring after Deadpool.

Eventually, Black Widow said, “I’ll check the building for survivors,” and crunched through the broken glass into the building.

Captain America sighed and turned to Peter, who froze again, not entirely sure of whether he was about to be reprimanded or ignored.

“Are you alright?” Cap asked him.

“Um,” Peter began, and didn’t it just figure that the first word he said to _Captain America_ was _um._ “Yeah, I’m…I’m good.”

The Captain offered a tight smile and replied, “Good. Then, as long as you’re not hurt, you should probably go home and forget you ever met Deadpool.”

In yet another impeccable move on Peter’s part, he answered, “I can’t.”

Captain America tilted his head a bit, obviously expecting Peter to elaborate. However, Peter was socially awkward in a way that was almost physically painful, and so he waited for the Captain to verbally respond instead of reading social cues.

“Why’s that?” Captain America inquired after a short, uncomfortable silence.

“My aunt needs eggs.”

Peter almost smacked himself in the face in the split second it took him to realize what a horrible social move he’d just made, and hurried to attempt redemption: “She sent me out to get eggs and the only place that’s near our neighborhood is a mini-mart down this street, and I don’t have the eggs yet, so I still need to go and get them.”

It was all spat out in a hurry, but Peter gathered that the Captain had at least gotten the gist, as the man nodded slowly.

Peter glanced around for a moment, looking for a clue as to what to do or say next, and caught sight of Iron Man, Falcon, the Winter Soldier, and Hawkeye all staring at him.

 _Freak,_ he heard in his head, classmates jeering at him or little kids pointing him out too loudly to their flustered parents. _What’s wrong with his face? Don’t stare honey. Why don’t you just use concealer? Can’t you get it fixed?_

Peter looked down hurriedly and said, “I gotta go.”

“Hold on, kid,” Captain America said, putting a hand on Peter’s arm to stop him. “Are you sure you’re not hurt anywhere?”

Peter nodded hastily without looking up. “Yeah, I’m fine, I’m okay.”

“What, you don’t even want a picture with the Avengers?” the voice of Tony Stark said, and Peter pulled away from the Captain’s grasp, shaking his head quickly.

“No—I’m fine—I gotta go—”

“Yeah, to get eggs,” Hawkeye mumbled. “Who knew an egg-run could go so wrong?”

Peter tugged the hood of his sweatshirt lower over his beanie and started to walk away, but Iron Man was talking to him again.

“Who doesn’t want a photo with _the Avengers_?”

“ _He_ doesn’t,” Falcon chimed in, and Peter could have hugged him. “Get over yourself, Tony.”

“It is sorta strange,” Hawkeye said suspiciously, and Peter glared. “ _Everyone_ wants a picture. Especially with _the_ Tony Stark.”

“See?” Iron Man said smugly.

Peter felt eyes on him again, and the expectation that he answer, but he was saved by the Black Widow’s reappearance.

“Well,” she said, placing her hands on her hips. “There _is_ a lot of cleanup to be done…most of it bodies…but it seems our threat has been… _neutralized._ ”

Peter was using the distraction to slip away, skateboard in hand, but he was stopped once again, this time by a metal arm blocking his path.

Falcon sighed and said, “Tony, just let it go; not everyone loves us.”

“Not true,” Stark argued. “Everyone does love us. What’s up kid? Did Natasha scare you off? Or was it Clint?”

“ _Hey_ ,” Hawkeye protested, and the Black Widow raised an eyebrow (which was, to be completely honest, quite terrifying).

Falcon sighed yet again, and led Peter away from Stark and toward the curb. “Come on, kid, you should probably sit for a second, just in case you’re in shock or something.”

Stark snorted, but Peter didn’t argue and Falcon sat down next to him, ignoring Iron Man.

“So,” Falcon said. “I’m guessing you’ve never been in that kind of a situation before?”

Peter shook his head mutely, staring at the ground even as he felt Falcon trying to make eye contact with him.

“Guess it’s not every day a building explodes on your way to the mini-mart,” the man muttered.

Peter huffed a laugh, and Falcon seemed encouraged by Peter’s reaction.

“What’s your name?” Falcon asked.

“Peter.”

“I’m Sam.” Clearly trying to distract Peter from what had happened and the Avengers behind them, Falcon went on, “Any hobbies, Peter?”

“Um, photography,” Peter said quietly. “And science.”

“Really?” Falcon said.

“ _Then you should be dying to get a picture with me_!” Stark exclaimed.

“Shut up, Tony!” Falcon called, and Peter chuckled.

He was sure he would never have another day quite like this one.

-

Eventually, Peter got the eggs he went out for, and Aunt May freaked out when he explained why it took him so long.

And then almost fainted when Tony Stark showed up in the evening demanding to know why Peter had left without a picture.


	2. In Which Peter Makes Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter likes Steve better than Tony. Also, his face isn't that bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I thought I'd just...  
> Do this.

_Peter’s_ day was just getting worse and worse.

First, he’d forgotten his wallet back at home and needed his student identification to move in, and had to use his passport, which he miraculously had. Then his dorm mate Harry had turned out to be kind of a jerk who expected Peter to abide by all of his rules but was apparently exempt from any of Peter’s. And _then_ he’d met this RA named Mary-Jane who kept giving him backhanded compliments, telling him she didn’t mind his scars that much if he ever _needed_ anything.

Peter took that to mean that she was there to help in case he got lost or something.

Now, to top it all off, Peter was pretty sure the barista behind the counter of the coffee shop he was currently trying to unwind in had given him a mocha instead of a hot chocolate.

Which wasn’t actually a big deal because he like both and mochas were more expensive and he’d only paid for a hot chocolate—but _still._

 _Plus_ the sleeve of his sweatshirt was fraying.

So yeah. Peter was a bit miffed.

Which made it all the more infuriating when a short guy in a snappy suit and sunglasses plopped down at his table—or, the table he was sitting at, but he had _claimed it, darn it_ —and proceeded to stare Peter down.

“Um,” Peter said.

“ _Um_?” the man said, and _oh no_. “You refuse my autograph— _my autograph_ —like, three times, and all you have to say is _um_?”

Peter blinked. “Um.”

Tony Stark whipped off his sunglasses (Peter suspected it was solely so he could visibly roll his eyes) and said, “You don’t make any sense.”

Peter thought that was a little hypocritical.

“Don’t you like science?”

Peter nodded hesitantly. “Yup.”

Stark threw his hands into the air in exasperation. “Then _why_ —?”

“ _Oh my gosh_.”

Peter and Stark both looked up at the excited voice of a blonde teenager. Peter moved to pull his hood further over his head, but she wasn’t focusing on him; she only had eyes for the celebrity sitting across from him.

“Oh my gosh, Mr. Stark! Can I get a picture? Would you mind?”

Stark gave Peter a pointed look before accepting, and by the time he had bid the girl adieu, there was a line forming. A few of the people in the line and out of it were eyeing Peter curiously, probably wondering who he was. He stood with his coffee and left before Stark could stop him.

-

On the walk back to the dorm, would you believe it, Peter ran into Captain America, who appeared to be coming from the gym.

Like, full-on body slammed him and spilled his coffee all over both of them.

Peter couldn’t bring himself to do more than stare for a few solid seconds—but then he was ripping his beanie off and attempting to pat the lukewarm coffee off of the super soldier’s chest and—

“Oh my gosh, this is so _embarrassing_ , I can’t believe I did that, I’m such a _klutz_ —I’ll pay for your shirt—no, wait, I mean I can wash it at my dorm, they have free laundry machines—wait, but I can pay if you just want a new shirt—”

“Whoa,” Captain America stopped his rambling, placing a hand on Peter’s arm. “Don’t ruin your hat. It’s okay, my shirt will be fine.”

Peter pulled his arm back quickly, almost pulled his beanie back on before remembering it was dripping with mocha, and yanked his hood back over his head.

“You’re the kid from last week, right?” Cap said after Peter regained his bearings.

“Y-yeah,” Peter said, not really knowing what he was affirming as he continued to recover his mind.

“Peter, right?”

And Peter nodded as the situation came back to him.

“I just saw Mr. Stark again,” Peter said, because he was still shaken from _spilling his coffee on the first Avenger_. “He was still trying to get me to ask him for an autograph. He’s kind of obsessive over the whole _being famous_ thing, isn’t he?”

Peter laughed nervously.

But Captain America frowned. “Was he bothering you?”

“No!” Peter almost-shouted, then was immediately embarrassed. “No, he was…fine.”

The Cap nodded slowly, looking Peter over.

“Well, since your coffee is ruined and I was just on my way to get one, why don’t we get coffee together?”

Peter blinked at the suggestion, but accepted the offer.

Overall, it didn’t turn out to be that bad of an ending to his day. Even if Peter was still wearing a coffee-stained sweatshirt as he drank coffee with Captain America, who had changed into an extra shirt from his workout bag.

Between the two coffee dates, Peter had to say he enjoyed his time with Captain America more. Just for the record.

-

The problem with Captain America, Peter found as he continued to run into the man on a more-often-than-could-be-coincidental basis, was that he was too nice.

Peter knew when people were sneaking glances at his two-toned face. And he recognized that it was only natural to be curious about what happened to make it so. Curiosity often led Peter to investigation, but it seemed Captain America was fine with just stealing the occasional look in Peter’s direction, or outright staring when he thought Peter was too preoccupied with something like texting his aunt to notice.

But, oh, did Peter notice.

“I was struck by lightning,” Peter stated as he texted his aunt how his day had been going on a Monday afternoon.

Cap, who was sitting next to Peter on a park bench and sketching the scenery, started a little.

“What?”

“When I was twelve, I got struck by a bolt of lightning,” Peter clarified. “That’s where the scars are from.”

The Cap blinked slowly.

Peter rolled his eyes lightly, smiling at Cap and putting his phone away.

“You kept staring,” Peter said.

Cap looked sheepish.

“It’s okay,” Peter said, meaning it. “Everybody stares.”

Captain America nodded and left it at that, and Peter was relieved.

-

Stark still didn’t seem to understand that Peter didn’t care about his autograph.

“Look,” the man said as he walked with Peter around his college campus. “All I’m saying is, it could come in handy someday. Like in a job application or something.”

Peter snorted.

“Really!” Stark insisted. “I mean, I can understand why you wouldn’t want a _picture_ , but—”

Peter stopped walking abruptly, any trace of humor disappearing.

“What is that supposed to mean?” he said, his heart sinking.

Stark blinked. “It’s too easy to alter photos nowadays. Someone would probably just assume you photoshopped me into a picture of you.”

Peter breathed out.

Stark smirked. “But yeah, you’re pretty ugly, too.”

Peter blinked, then scoffed at Stark. “You have _no_ room to talk, Mr. Stark.”

“I’ll have you know, I was voted one of the sexiest men alive.”

“Falcon made that happen so your feelings wouldn’t be hurt.”

“He _did not_!”

-

Harry had Mary-Jane over to their dorm.

Normally, Peter probably would have just clenched his teeth, climbed into bed, and put on some rain sounds from YouTube to try and sleep, but Harry and “MJ” had pushed the beds together and MJ had shamelessly told Peter he was free to join them, so he had squeaked an “I’m good” and booked it.

Seeing as Peter had just returned from some late-night studying, it was pretty dark out, and thus campus security was on the move. He decided to avoid their suspicion, and left campus, heading toward a coffee shop that was open late for students. Maybe he could do some of next week’s bio homework…

Peter encountered a setback before he could make it halfway to his destination. Because of course he would stumble upon a crazy person in spandex—the same crazy person who blew up a building as a “favor” to the Avengers a week and a half ago—on his way to do homework.

Peter was about to try crossing the street or just straight up running in the opposite direction when Deadpool called out a hello.

“Um,” Peter said, pushing up his glasses. “Hey.”

“Have you seen Luke Cage yet?” Deadpool began without warning. “Because, man-oh-man, did Netflix score with that one— Shut up, White, just because he’s black and his name is Cottonmouth does _not_ mean Marvel is racist—”

Peter was immediately lost in Deadpool’s constant chatter, but listened and nodded along while the man continued to talk as if they were friends catching up.

“—and—dude, what’s up with your face, now that I think about it?”

Ah yes. It seemed Peter had overestimated the power of nighttime. He had trusted it to protect his features as he ventured out into the darkness, so he hadn’t pulled the hood of his sweatshirt over his head when he left the dorms.

As it was, he bristled and jerkily pulled his hood up at Deadpool’s words.

“Nah, nah,” the man said with a dismissive wave. “I get it. But what happened?”

Peter just sniffled.

“Look,” Deadpool said, pulling his mask up to his nose, and Peter observed the scars there—far worse than any Peter had. “I get it.”

Peter stared for a moment, then let out a sigh, oddly comforted.

“Struck by lightning. You?”

“Tortured,” the man chirped. “Welp, g’night!”

And he pranced off.

Later, once the coffee shop had closed, Peter walked back to his dorm with his hood off.

-

Avengers Tower was awesome. Peter had never seen so many expensive gadgets in one place, and Tony’s _lab_ —

Well, there was just no describing it.

Presently, he was sitting in a cushy armchair and listening to low jazz while Falcon made a dessert and the rest of the Avengers relaxed after a filling dinner. (Peter was more than aware that Thor was trying to discuss what kind of alien Peter reminded him of with Bruce, who was looking very uncomfortable and valiantly attempting to change the subject, but Peter ignored that in favor of observing the amazing view from his seat.)

“How did you get those scars?”

Everyone jumped at Bucky’s sudden question but Peter, who had been expecting it to come up at some point. Falcon dropped his whisk in his surprise, and then left it on the floor in order to join the rest of the Avengers in staring at Peter. Even Natasha looked mildly interested.

“Lightning,” Peter said simply.

Bucky nodded in understanding and went back to the book in his lap, but Peter could feel the eyes of the others still on him. He sighed.

“When I was twelve,” he elaborated for them. “I’m good now.”

“Wait,” Tony said. “I thought lightning strike victims got horrible red scars. Your face is just…”

Peter shrugged. “Take it up with the lightning bolt, I guess.”

After a brief silence, Natasha said. “They suit you.”

Peter blinked at her. “Huh?”

“They don’t look bad,” she said, and was silent.

Peter smiled his gratitude for the compliment.

When he got back to his dorm and Harry scowled at him, he kept his hood down anyway.


	3. In Which Hammers Are Important

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter has The Power. Deadpool is a hipster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took so long :( college and such

_Peter_ was getting used to the Avengers. So used to them, in fact, that he had taken to straightening up the kitchen and common room that the Avengers frequented the most. If he saw that there were dishes to be washed or put away, he took care of them. If there were pizza boxes left out after a night of camaraderie following a fight, Peter picked them up and recycled them. (Tony still didn’t seem to understand that recycling wasn’t just a trend, it was _important_.)

Of course, it stood to reason that, in order to clean thoroughly, Peter would have to move some things. Normally, he remembered to put them back, but every once in a while… Well. Peter was glad Natasha liked him enough not to throw him out the window for misplacing her favorite Glock 26.

Today, Peter was sure he would have an enormous mess to deal with. The Avengers tended to have the _best_ feasts the day after stopping a particularly dangerous villain, and they had been working towards stopping Hydra from infiltrating the White House since October. Now that they were back in mid-December, and they hadn’t seen Peter in a good month and a half, they were inviting him over for “the dinner of a lifetime,” according to Sam.

When Peter had come to bid everyone welcome back last night, it was to an unconscious pile of supers and a pile of pizza boxes. He’d been quick to pick up and leave them all a note congratulating them and assuring them he’d be back for the feast.

Unfortunately, Peter entered the Avengers’ headquarters to general discombobulation. There was yelling, and anger, but not at each other, and Peter could only stand in the doorway of the elevator in confusion.

“It has to have been Loki,” Steve was insisting.

“Loki is locked away,” Bruce said, the calmest of everyone except, perhaps, Natasha. “Besides, there’s no way he could have gotten past Jarvis without alerting us.”

“My brother is not the culprit!” Thor exclaimed.

“Well, can you blame us for suspecting him?” Tony snarked. “He did kind of try to take over the world.”

Peter cleared his throat, which he didn’t expect to have any sort of impact, but which ended up garnering the whole of the Avengers’ attention.

“Peter!” Clint said happily.

“Hey everyone,” he said with a small, awkward wave. “Um, what’s going on?”

“Thor lost his hammer,” Natasha said with little inflection.

“I did not lose it!” Thor proclaimed. “It has been stolen!”

“Uh,” Peter said. “I thought you were the only one who could lift it.”

“Only the _worthy_ can lift it,” Tony sneered, moving to greet Peter with a pat on the shoulder before going into the kitchen.

Peter blinked. “Oh. Well, doesn’t that kind of rule out thieves?”

Thor paused.

“Lost,” Natasha restated.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” Sam said. “Think over where you remember seeing it last, and maybe you’ll have remembered by the time you’re finished eating.”

Thor frowned (read: pouted), but didn’t argue, and took a seat on the couch with his arms folded. Peter joined him and gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.

“I know I saw it last night when I cleaned up,” he said lightly. “I’m sure it’ll turn up. It’s probably just in your bedroom somewhere.”

-

Dinner was, as Sam had assured Peter it would be, fantastic. It was three-course, and each course had a variety of choices. Peter ate so much food that he thought he could _feel_ his stomach expanding.

“If this was just a celebratory dinner, I can’t imagine what Christmas is like for you guys,” Peter said.

“Basically this, but with more of everything,” Tony said, popping one last forkful of mashed potatoes into his mouth.

“ _More?_ ” Peter said, patting his stomach absentmindedly. “You guys can eat _more_ than this in one sitting?”

“Kid,” Tony said. “We’re _superheroes_.”

Peter scrunched is nose up thoughtfully. “Fair enough.”

“Sir,” Jarvis interrupted. “There’s a strange man in a red suit outside, demanding to be let in. Shall I phone the police?”

Tony rolled his eyes. “No. Just let him be until he gives up.”

“Does Deadpool ever give up?” Sam pondered lightly.

“He is attempting to climb the side of the building, sir,” Jarvis remarked.

“Okay, yeah,” Tony decided. “Call the cops.”

-

Apparently, the cops didn’t do much in the way of shooing Deadpool away, because when Peter walked out of the Avengers Tower, the antihero jumped away from the side of the building (where he was still attempting to climb) with a cry and scared the bejeebers out of Peter. Peter really couldn’t be blamed if he squealed as he flailed away; the man was wearing a suit of _guns_ for goodness sake.

Deadpool cackled at Peter’s panicked flapping and wiped a few nonexistent tears away.

“Got ‘em!” he cried.

Peter wasn’t sure what to say, so he said nothing.

“Anyway,” Deadpool began, as if he had been holding a conversation. “I heard Thor lost his hammer.”

Peter blinked. “How do you know that?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Deadpool proclaimed. Then he tilted his head and said, “ _No,_ I did _not_ break in and bug the Tower, and you have _no proof_ —”

Peter blinked again. “I didn’t say you bugged the Tower.”

“ _See?_ ” Deadpool crowed. “Andrew Garfield with glasses thinks I’m innocent!”

Suddenly, Deadpool was leaning in, and Peter had to lean away so he wouldn’t end up bashing faces with the mercenary.

“Listen,” Deadpool mumbled seriously. “Lemme know when you find out where _Mjӧlnir_ is. I have _big_ plans for that hammer. _Big plans._ ”

Deadpool skipped off after that, whistling merrily and leaving Peter to stare after him in utter confusion. Eventually, all he could do was push his glasses up his nose and make his way back to his dorm.

-

Harry had been particularly miffing tonight, Peter couldn’t help but complain to himself internally. He seemed to think that Peter’s residence in the room was changeable, and that he could kick him out whenever he wanted to. This time, when Peter refused to leave and allow MJ and Harry the room to themselves, the two just made out on Harry’s bed until Peter got grossed out enough by the constant sounds that he stuffed as much as he could into a bag, grabbed his keys, and stormed out.

Peter decided the best thing for him to do was go to Avengers Tower and clean up, to take his mind off things. Heaven knew what mess awaited him in the common room.

When Peter ascended to the usual floor and entered the room, it was to find the routine pizza boxes and soda cans littering the coffee table, couches, and floor. Peter set to work immediately, setting his backpack down and tossing trash and recycling away respectively. When that was taken care of, Peter took to cleaning off the coffee table and wiping up small spills. He noticed a spill over on the wall opposite the television, next to a cupboard no one ever bothered to put anything in. It was probably Hawkeye’s fault, Peter thought. He never cleaned up his messes.

Peter re-wet his rag and grabbed some stain-remover from under the kitchen sink. He bent over the stain and wiped it up as thoroughly as he could, wondering if Natasha would mind backing him up if he reprimanded Clint for his terrible hygiene behavior—

Peter paused, getting a sense of deja vu in this position, next to this cupboard—

Oh!

Peter tugged the cupboard open and pulled Thor’s hammer from the cupboard. _Now_ , of course, he remembered setting it there while he dusted off the top of the cupboard. The doors must have closed at some point, and he must have completely forgotten about putting it there. Peter quickly replaced it on the top of the cabinet and closed the doors once more. He finished tidying the room, and made a mental note to apologize to Thor for his absentmindedness. Then, with a clearer head, he settled down on the couch with a textbook and set about finishing his assigned reading for the night.

-

Peter woke to an unsettling amount of yelling. The Avengers were back in the common room. Sam was cooking what smelled like eggs and bacon in the kitchen, smiling in amusement as Thor bellowed about his hammer sitting on the cabinet top. Natasha was sipping coffee from a mug and sitting in the armchair across from Peter; Tony was scanning _Mjӧlnir_ with his phone and frowning; and Steve was watching Peter with a curious look on his face. Meanwhile, Clint sat on top of the fridge, eating a banana, and watched the situation unfold.

“Hey, guys,” Peter greeted as he sat up.

“Morning, Peter,” Steve said.

“What’s going on?” Peter asked, accepting a steaming mug of coffee from Sam with a nod of gratitude.

“Thor’s hammer turned up out of nowhere,” Tony said, still scanning and frowning at his phone.

Peter shrugged, standing and heading over to join them. “Well, not really _nowhere_. It was in the cupboard.”

There was a moment of silence, and then Tony looked at him.

“What?” he intoned.

“Well,” Peter explained sheepishly, “I put it in there when I was cleaning up a couple nights ago, and I accidentally closed the doors and forgot it was there until last night, when I was cleaning up a spill…”

Thor was agape now, and Natasha was blatantly staring. Peter swallowed and shrugged.

“Sorry,” he said. “I really didn’t mean to make everyone panic.”

Tony put his phone away with a smirk and nodded at the hammer. “You should hand that to Thor.”

Peter raised his eyebrows, but did as Tony asked, scooping the weapon up and handing it over. Clint’s banana dropped to the kitchen floor. Steve inhaled. Thor reached out and took it, and Peter looked at his watch. He winced.

“I’ve got class in an hour, so I should head back,” he said. “I’ll see you guys later.”

“Sure,” Sam said, smiling and dishing up breakfasts. “Take some food for the road.”

-

When Peter next left his dorm, it was to find Deadpool waiting outside his door, clad in a beanie, All-Star Converse, tight jeans, and a sweater over his usual red and black.

“How did you get in here?” Peter said.

“Did you find the hammer?” Deadpool returned.

“Is that _Deadpool?_ ” Harry called.

“Is this a free show?” Deadpool said, gesturing to the entanglement that was Harry and MJ.

“Okay, wait,” Peter said with a wave of his hands. “One thing at a time. First, how did you get in the building, Deadpool?”

“Walked through the doors,” the man replied.

Peter paused, took a closer look at Deadpool’s outfit, then huffed out a breath. “Okay then. Um, yes, I found _Mjӧlnir_ , and I gave it back to Thor.”

“ _What!_ ” Deadpool cried. “But I had such _great plans_ for that hammer, and me, and a picture of Andrew Garfield—”

“Okay _stop_ ,” Peter interrupted quickly. “Next question. Yes, Harry, this is obviously Deadpool. And the guy is my roommate. There’s no… _free show_ …they just—do that. Now, I have to go, so—”

“Where ya goin’?” Deadpool asked.

“Library, probably,” Peter said.

“Why?”

“Well,” Peter began hesitantly, glancing behind him at Harry and MJ. “I just—didn’t want to… They’re gonna…”

“ _They’re_ gonna?” Deadpool said, suddenly pointing at Peter’s roommate with a gun he’d pulled from an unseen location.

“Whoa!” Peter said, flailing while Harry screamed and MJ gasped. “Okay, okay, um—this isn’t necessary!”

“Neither is the number of times you’ve said _okay_ in the last minute, but—”

“No!” was all Peter managed to shout, and stood in front of Deadpool’s gun, in the way of Harry getting shot. “Just, please put the gun away. I’m leaving whether or not they decide to _do it_ , alright?”

“Hm,” Deadpool hummed lightly, shrugging as he stuffed the gun away somewhere under his clothes, then holding Peter’s hand. “Let’s go then, Petey! I love libraries!”

Needless to say, taking Deadpool to the library was a mistake—he immediately tried to show this kids in the children’s section his favorite gun—and Peter ended up apologizing to the librarian profusely and promising he would never take the man there again as they left and headed for the Avengers Tower.

Deadpool was immediately kicked out (literally) while he cursed and vowed to win Peter over to his side, and Peter was pulled inside to eat a bigger dinner than he’d had all week. He couldn’t help but notice how often Thor and Steve gave him approving looks, and how Natasha smiled knowingly.

When Peter got back to his dorm that night, it was to find the place empty, a chocolate bar on his desk, and his sheets freshly washed.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading~  
> Please be brutal in your criticisms :))


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